Accarezzevole
by flowermasters
Summary: Because even when the world has stopped spinning, the music will keep playing. - First Class drabbles, various pairings/characters. Mainly Erik/Charles.
1. I

**A/N: These are going to be some wordy drabbles. Lol. This is not a shuffle challenge or a songfic, but there will be lyrics at the top of each chapter. The title of this fic means, according to Wikipedia - 'fawningly', in Italian. It's a music term that indicates something is supposed to be played 'expressively and caressingly'. I just like the word!**

**Warnings: angst, Charles/Erik, slight Charles/Moira, depressed!Charles. Set at the very end of First Class. **

**Disclaimer: . . . I, flowermasters, do not own X-Men.**

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><p><em>In my past, bittersweet<em>

_There's no love between the sheets._

_Taste the blood, broken dreams_

_Lonely times indeed,_

_With eyes cast down, fixed upon the ground_

_Eyes cast down_

'Shake Me Down', Cage the Elephant.

Charles Xavier looks at the chessboard and sits completely still. He stares and he does not move, shift, twitch, or even breathe.

_Sitting here will not make him come back_, his brain informs him logically.

_Erik_, moans his heart, broken and thudding in his chest.

_Breathe, you bloody idiot_, his lungs remind him, and he does, taking in a slow, quiet gulp of air.

He wheels himself closer to the small table where the board rests, and continues to stare. The pieces are all as he recalls leaving them – or at least, they probably are. It turns out Charles cannot remember nearly as much as he thought he could.

His hand jerks out in one smooth motion, upending the board and sending pieces flying everywhere. He just watches as they scatter, and it is with a bitter taste in his mouth that he notices the kings. The white king has landed almost under the nearest bookshelf, and the black king is beside it. They are facing away from each other, like the enemies they truly are.

_The black king is abandoning the white_, Charles muses. _If there is a God, he is laughing._

His heart has taken up its rhythm again. _Erik, Erik, Erik –_

Behind him, the door swings open, and he turns to look. It is Moira, of course. She takes in the sight of him sitting all alone in the middle of the room surrounded by chess pieces, and pity floods off of her in a massive tidal wave.

"Charles," she says. "Let me clean up for you –,"

"No," he responds. "No, thank you, Moira. I'll get them later. I want to go outside. Will you take a walk with me?" _No; you will walk, I will be pushed._

She nods slowly, her eyes damp and her thoughts sad and miserable, flowing from her head and into his like a continuous river of _CharlesI'msosorryIloveyouohCharles. _

He looks away, and gazes down at the pieces on the floor. "I'll pick them up later," he repeats, mostly for her benefit, but also partially for his.

"Let me," she says.

"Alright," he agrees absently, as she wheels him out of the study. But Moira will never pick up the chess pieces; Moira will be taken home soon, unconscious and unable to remember anything. Charles will pick them up a week later and put them back on the board, and he will place the pieces back into their proper spots, except for the kings. These he will leave in the center of the board, facing each other, almost as though the black king was preparing to embrace the white king. Almost as though they were not enemies, as though they did not each have their own respective _side_.

It will be a long, long time before he moves the kings apart, and when he does, it will be with the heavy throb of his heartbeat – _Erik, Erik, Erik _– and the acrid taste of want on his tongue.

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><p><strong>AN: I promise, most of these won't be so angsty. Thanks for reading, please review! :)**


	2. II

**A/N: Yay, non-angst. Boo, non-Charles/Erik.**

**Warnings: consumption of alcohol (possibly by a minor, depending on what age you wanna picture her as), Emma/Sebastian, early-psychopathic!Emma. Set several years before First Class.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men! :) **

**Trivia fact: The song I used is from _Footloose_. Aka, one of Kevin Bacon's first major movie roles. Eep! **

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><p><em>I can feel his approach<em>

_Like a fire in my blood._

_I need a hero,_

_I'm holding out for a hero til the end of the night._

'Holding Out For a Hero', Bonnie Tyler.

Emma raises the champagne glass to her mouth slowly, and takes a dainty, quiet sip. It's bubbly and tastes alright – she has never before tasted champagne, and she suspects that if she drinks enough, it will taste a lot better than just _alright_.

"Good?" Sebastian Shaw queries. _God, she's gorgeous._

"Very," she says lightly. "Thank you, Mr. Shaw. You certainly know how to show a girl a nice time."

He smiles, his expression on the border between sinister and seductive (she's leaning more towards seductive). "I do try. Please, call me Sebastian."

She reaches up to push a blonde curl out of her face, and smiles as his gaze and his thoughts follow the motion. He thinks of her as naïve, a sweet blonde girl to corrupt and change. And in turn she thinks of him as both a master to serve and a slave to drive; he knows nothing of what she can do, but he knows the world, he understands things that she _craves_ to learn. So he will be her master and her leader, because she will allow him to be. He will be her ruling deity, her god and her savior, because she will let him.

Almost as if _he_ is the mind-reader, Sebastian says, "So tell me, my lovely. What can you do?"

She phases into diamond without the slightest bit of hesitation. "I can read your mind. And control it, if I choose." Her jeweled lips curl into a smirk. "You've been thinking about how _lovely_ I am all night, so what do you think now?"

Sebastian's gray-ice eyes are wide with wonder, and his thoughts are flowing thick with greed, amazement, lust, and sheer power. "I think you're absolutely beautiful."

She changes back to her human form, and becomes once more a blue-eyed, charming girl with mile-long legs and thick flaxen curls. "Thank you," she replies.

He leans close to her and rests a hand on her knee, and she allows him to kiss her. She has only been kissed a handful of times before – there has seldom been time for boyfriends, and never the opportunity in an all-female mental institution – but he seems to be fairly gifted at it. Maybe she'll kiss him back one day – maybe.

He pulls back an inch, and murmurs. "One thing," he says. "Could you ever be willing to kill, Miss Frost?"

She smiles, deadly and sweet. "Could I," she says. "I already am."

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><p><strong>AN: God, she's crazy. AND I LOVE IT. Thanks so much for reading, reviews make my day!**


	3. III

**A/N: There be slash ahead, mateys.**

**Warnings: Charles/Erik, sexual tension, jealous!Erik, some implied sexual imagery, sort-of-fluff.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, Charles and Erik would play strip-chess, thank you very much.**

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><p>'<em>Cause I just can't seem to drink you off my mind.<em>

_It's the honky-tonk women,_

_Gimme, gimme, gimme, the honky-tonk blues._

'Honky-Tonk Women', The Rolling Stones.

"Tell me again why we're here, Charles."

Charles smiles over the rim of his glass. "Because, we are friends, and this is what friends do."

Erik looks around the dimly-lit bar with distaste, and replies, "Then I'm not quite sure I want to be your friend anymore."

Charles grins and lets out a charming, almost _flirtatious_ laugh. "You –,"

"Hi, fellas," a high-pitched voice chirrups over all the background noise. Erik and Charles both turn to look at the stranger, Erik with his usual wariness and Charles with a raised eyebrow of interest. "You two sure aren't the normal crowd in here."

Erik glances at Charles, then down at himself – no, they certainly aren't, as Erik is wearing one of his usual turtlenecks and Charles is, of course, clad in a collared shirt, jacket, and slacks. Most of the people in here are dressed rather ridiculously, by Erik's standards.

The girl is pretty enough, with brown hair and gray-blue eyes, and she has crammed herself into a dress that is at least a size too small, putting _several_ areas of her body on display. She is at first looking at Erik, but when she notices the cool, closed-off expression on his face, her gaze flicks to Charles, who is smiling openly at her.

Erik can only watch as this _harlot_ begins to flirt outrageously with Charles, and he resists the urge to grab her by the metal in her earrings and send her flying across the room. Charles returns the flirtation with his usual dapper charm, and Erik is literally _inches_ from gripping the shorter mutant by the arm and dragging him from the bar and back to the hotel and –

Charles's gaze darts to Erik, and he projects, _I'm sorry. We'll leave soon, I promise._

How irksome – the one time Erik actually wants Charles to see what he is thinking is the time that Charles misreads his emotions entirely.

The girl, noticing the strange way they are looking at each other, has begun to look confused. And then, from across the bar, another girl (one of the numerous scantily clad women in the room, Erik notes) calls out a name, and the brown-haired girl says brightly, "Oh, excuse me for just a minute. I'll be right back, I promise!"

When she is gone, Charles turns his gaze back to Erik. _You're jealous_, he broadcasts, his eyes wide with wonder and amusement.

Erik clenches his teeth. _Can we leave? _He can tell by the look on Charles's face that the telepath is skimming through his head right now, seeing everything, absolutely _everything _that Erik plans on doing once they're back at the hotel room.

Charles's eyes widen. _You want to –_

_Yes. I'll do much more than she would._

Charles laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his drink, and Erik reaches out to thump him hard on the back. _Are you sure? You've no idea what's been going through her head all night –_

Erik grits his teeth again, and grabs Charles by the elbow, tugging the younger man away from his stool. _We're leaving. Now._

Ignoring the stares of the bar patrons and the annoyed expression of the girl as they leave, Charles projects, _You know, I could get used to this jealous you. I might just flirt with girls all the time now._

Erik doesn't miss a beat. _Don't even think about it._

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><p><strong>AN: So I have a fetish for possessive!Erik and flirty!Charles. Sue me. Reviews greatly appreciated!**


	4. IV

**A/N: I should be doing my summer projects. :(**

**Warnings: long drabble, Raven/Charles (Don't kill me, she totally had the hots for him!). Set when Raven & Charles are 15-ish. Starts out fluffy, ends bittersweet.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, the beach scene would have ended with Charles and Erik running off into the sunset together. Naked.**

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><p><em>Do you remember when we didn't care?<em>

_We were just two kids that took the moment when it was there._

'Another Heart Calls', The All-American Rejects.

_y = mx + b. Substitute the slope for m and the y-intercept for b . . . now what's a y-intercept?_

Raven looks up from her paper, preparing to ask Charles just what the _hell_ this is ever going to be used for. She stops, however, and just looks at him, and waits to see how long it will take him to notice that she isn't working anymore. He is poring over a book, his nose literally inches from the page, and muttering under his breath. Charles had mastered algebra by age eleven, and here she is at 15, unable to work out a single problem on her own.

"Charles," she finally says, and he twitches slightly at the sound of her voice.

"Yes," he responds, flipping a page and looking up at her. Raven can't help but titter slightly at the dark shadow under one of his eyes – seeing Charles with a black eye shouldn't be funny, but it is, only because he's so proper and sweet all the time.

He narrows his eyes at her. "Why, yes, my eye _does_ still hurt, thank you so much for asking."

Raven shrugs. "I told you, don't screw around in Cain's head. He's got meaty fists."

"You never told me that."

"I _thought_ about telling you."

He rolls his eyes. "So maybe you'd like me to go in your head, then?"

She grins and stretches out one leg to poke his bony knee with her big toe under the table. "Someone's crabby this evening. We should stop studying and do something, oh, I don't know, _fun_."

"Studying is fun. Sometimes. Alright, occasionally."

Raven just looks at him. "You're weird, Charles," she says, tutting disapprovingly and rising smoothly from her chair, carelessly dropping her papers onto the floor. She walks over to the radio in the corner of the room, turning it on with a flick of the knob. "Music. We need music."

Charles grits his teeth and says, "Raven –,"

"Come on," she coaxes, twirling over to him, her pink robe fluttering around her ankles. She yanks the book out of his hands and nearly drops it – "God, why is this thing so heavy?" – and proceeds to tug him to his feet.

Charles shakes his head. "This is –,"

"Fun. Interesting. Not boring."

"I was going to go with ridiculous, silly, and annoying, actually."

She only grins and throws her arms over his shoulders, swaying to the beat of the music. "Shut up. You need to learn how to dance with a girl, anyway."

He doesn't move with her, but he does grudgingly put his arms around her waist. "No, I really don't."

She continues to sway, and gradually he gives in and moves with her. He'll never be an amazing dancer, but at least he won't look like a complete idiot. She smiles at him. "See, it's not so hard."

"Don't flatter me, I'm terrible. I know."

She rests her chin on his shoulder (if she keeps getting taller and he doesn't grow anymore, she'll have to tip her head to do that) and murmurs as the song changes, "You're not terrible. You'd steal any girl's heart dancing like this."

He chuckles, and his grip on her waist goes from awkward to easy, natural, comfortable. The way you would hold a sister, or a friend. Or maybe, just maybe, something more.

She turns her head then, and she doesn't even think about it – she kisses him.

His lips are soft and warm, and they part quickly and easily – but not to return the kiss, she soon realizes. Because he is pulling back, and opening his mouth to speak.

She looks away, embarrassed. "Don't say anything. Forget I did that, please."

He pauses, then surprisingly, he resumes their swaying motion. "Okay," he says. "Forgotten."

She smiles, but sadly, because she has caught sight of their reflection in the library's window. They are brother and sister, dancing together – but brother and sister would never move like this – nor would friends, not this closely, this slowly. She squeezes her arms around his shoulders, and sighs. _That's all we are, _she reminds herself. _We're brother and sister, just not by blood. That's all it is. _

She would later come to find out that that was all it would ever be, and it would take the end of their friendship for her to realize that it had always been just enough. But by that time, she would no longer be Charles Xavier's sister. That girl had never truly been real in the first place.

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><p><strong>AN: I actually kind of like this pairing. :) Reviews, please?**


	5. V

**A/N: Blame Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare and The Thief King for bringing my Hank/Alex obsession to the surface. XD**

**Warnings: language, sexual imagery/implications, Hank/Alex, background Erik/Charles, Alex being raunchy, Hank and Alex being horny teenagers . . . the usual. Lmfao. Set during First Class, as a missing moment during the infamous training week montage.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, Hank and Alex would be having little blue fuzzy gay babies. Capisce?**

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><p><em>Such strenuous living<em>

_I just don't understand_

_When in just seven days, oh, baby,_

_I can make you a man._

'I Can Make You a Man', The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

"Shhh, Alex!"

"Don't shh me, I'm not a five-year-old."

"Well, you're running like one. You almost knocked over that vase –,"

"It's _vayse_, not _vaaaahz_. Hmm, how about here?" Alex says, skidding to a halt and indicating a storage closet.

"That's a closet," Hank points out, both confused and dumbfounded by the other mutant's sheer idiocy. "We can't –,"

"Don't be such a wuss," Alex says bluntly, opening the door to the closet and yanking Hank in. "Don't you want to lose your closet-virginity?"

"One virginity was quite enough, thank you –,"

Alex closes the door with a quiet click and drags Hank to him, backing against the wall. In the complete darkness of the small room, Hank can't even see two inches in front of his face, but he suddenly imagines how Alex would look here, in the closet, flushed, sweaty, moaning, _hot_ –

He shudders then, and Alex's triumphant grin transcends the darkness. "Changed your mind yet? _Something's_ definitely changing –,"

"I actually think I could use some more convincing."

Alex, who suddenly seems to have developed night vision, finds Hank's mouth in the dark and slams their lips together. Hank kisses him back and holds him firm against the wall, delighting in the way Alex shivers against him.

The carefully-hidden animalistic streak in Hank rears its head then, and his lips move to Alex's jaw, pressing against the light stubble there, before he tips his head to reach the other boy's neck and digs his teeth in.

Alex gasps, and Hank hears the _thunk_ of his head hitting the wall as he bares that pretty white throat. "Yeah," he says, his voice husky and deep and masculine even as he submits to the lips at his neck. "Like that. You're so hot like this, Hank, all _rough_ –,"

Hank smiles and bites again, making Alex jerk. The whole world has shrunk down to the closet and the two young men in it, and Hank only very _dimly_ notices the sound of people walking by, familiar voices, a sudden exclamation of, "Wait, Erik, don't!" –

Then the door swings open, light flooding in, and Hank and Alex both look up like deer caught in headlights.

Erik Lehnsherr is standing in the hallway staring at them, his lips parted as if in shock. Behind him stands Charles, one hand over his mouth, his blue eyes shiny with amusement and embarrassment.

"Boys," Charles finally says, breaking the thick silence. "Try not to ruin the closet. Erik and I were just going, weren't we, Erik?"

Erik twitches slightly, closing his mouth and then saying, "Uh, yes. Yes, we were." The door swings shut without being touched, and Hank listens in silent horror as the two men flee the scene (admittedly, they flee in a very dignified and gentlemanly manner, but it's _fleeing_ nonetheless).

"Oh, my God," he says, his voice about an octave higher than normal. The beastly side of Hank is tempted to chase after Erik and Charles and rip them limb-from-limb for interrupting, but the sweet, nerdy scientist side of him over-rides that particular urge and takes full control. And the sweet, nerdy scientist is _mortified_.

He pulls away from Alex, his hand flying to the doorknob, but Alex grabs him by the shoulders and jerks him back. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where do you think you're going?"

"Alex, we just got _caught_. By _Erik_. He and Charles are probably upstairs right now –,"

"Having sex."

"_What_?"

"Seriously, they're doing it twice as often as we are, it's so obvious. Now shut the hell up and get back over here, it's time to pop your closet-cherry."

"You are so vulgar. And oh, _God_, Erik and Charles –!"

"Are probably upstairs in Charles's study, 'playing chess'. Yeah, right. Now, seriously. Less talk, more making out."

The big, manly beast in Hank has to point out, _who can argue with that_?

. . . And the sweet, innocent scientist really has to agree. He really, _really_ has to.

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><p><strong>AN: Why yes, I _did_ use a song from Rocky Horror. Thanks for reading, reviews appreciated!**


	6. VI

**A/N: God, I just love torturing Charles. **

**Warnings: angst, mentions of suicide/addiction/child abuse. Set when Charles and Raven are pre-teens. **

**Disclaimer: I'm nothing but a fangirl, folks.**

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><p><em>I thought that I heard you laughing,<em>

_I thought that I heard you sing,_

_I think I thought I saw you try._

_But that was just a dream, that was just a dream._

_Try, cry, why try._

_That was just a dream._

'Losing My Religion', R.E.M.

It is a cold, sunny winter morning when they bury his mother, and Charles Xavier does not weep.

All around him is _weeping_; his mother's hysterical friends wail under their veils and hats. His grandmother shakes and sobs (his balding grandfather just watches bleakly as they prepare to put his eldest child in the ground). Raven sits beside him, tears sliding one by one down her cheeks. But he does not cry – the only child of Sharon Xavier (_Marko_, his mind whispers cruelly) cannot cry for her.

He is sick, deeply, deeply sick. And not just emotionally – he is physically ill, delirious with a fever that after several days still refuses to break. His skin is ashen and white as the snow on the frigid ground (_how on earth did they dig the hole?_ he wonders dimly._ The ground is frozen. I'm frozen. Everything is frozen_), and he is both sweating and shivering under his thick black coat and suit. If he hadn't fallen ill, his mother would not be dead.

Not that he contaminated her – his mother did not succumb to any physical illness. Her illness was the product of pain pills, alcohol, and despair. _Depressed_, a psychologist would say. _Suicidal_. _Alcoholic. Unstable._

_Broken, beautiful, gone, Mama, _Charles would reply, were he approached by said psychologist.

Beside him, Cain Marko is staring at the ground. His thoughts are dark and swirling like piranhas in a murky river, and Charles is both oddly fascinated and completely, utterly repulsed.

On Cain's other side is Kurt Marko, and for a moment Charles feels such thick hatred for him that he knows Kurt must feel it, because his dark eyes meet Charles's baby blue ones.

Kurt is terrified of Charles – not terrified physically, because the man is well aware that one punch to Charles's pale, smooth face would leave a big, purple bruise, like a brand screaming _my stepfather is evil, please take me away from him_. But on a purely mental level, Charles is the biggest threat Kurt Marko could imagine. Charles could be his stepfather's worst nightmare, if he were so inclined.

He remembers it so clearly – Kurt had been the one to find Sharon and Charles, lying together on Sharon's bed, a sick child shaking over the limp form of his mother. He had screamed at Charles, and Charles had reached out with his mind and _squeezed_ – he hadn't even thought about it, but inside his head had been a rush of _my mother is dead and you killed her – even though she killed herself, you did it, you did it, Kurt – _

Kurt had run, run like the scared child he was so desperately afraid of.

Charles had stayed with the corpse of his beautiful, blonde, thirty-five-year-old mother until they came to take her away. He had been unconscious when she'd taken the pills – he had fallen asleep from a healthy dose of bitter syrup, and she had died from a deadly dose of white pills. When he had awoken and realized she was not okay, he had gone stumbling up the stairs to her room, and found her there, on the bed. His first thought had been _Mum, you're bleeding_, but it had only been red wine, spilt across the white satin duvet and perfectly matching the plum colored dress his mother had died in.

The minister drones on and on, but his mind is no more on the service than Charles's is. He is thinking about how _bloody freezing it is out here_, and Charles finds himself agreeing.

The last respects are paid, and they begin to lower the dark mahogany coffin into the rectangular pit. Charles cannot watch – he slips away and vomits in the bushes, and Raven follows to pat his back and whisper soothingly, "It's alright, Charles –,"

He does cry then – it is like a sudden storm, tears dropping off his face and freezing on the ground like raindrops. And just like that, he is done, and when he looks up, the box that holds Sharon Xavier is gone from his sight.

He looks at Raven – her eyes are wide and full of pity and sadness, and her skin keeps rippling blue, but no one will notice – he will make sure of it. He has never felt this awful before, and yet he has also never been more conscious of his power. He flexes his mind with ease, and the mourners who had previously been looking over at the two children standing in the bushes turn away in unison as though pushed. (And really, it is a mental push, but Charles does not feel at all guilty.)

Well, yes, he feels guilty. He feels guilty because he did not save his mother; he feels angry because she did not love him enough to live; he feels heavy and broken, deeply and truly broken by the loss of the one woman who was supposed to take care of him. He is just shy of twelve years old, and already he can feel the weight of the world – the world and all the suicides and thoughts and white pills – on his small shoulders.

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><p><strong>AN: -cuddles with little!Charles- I just had to write the token Charles's-mom's-suicide!fic. Reviews are so appreciated, guys!**


	7. VII

**A/N: Ah, Adam Pascal, my first love. This song seriously reminds me of Cherik.**

**Warnings: sexual implications, Charles/Erik, sort of fluff. Set at no specific time or place, really, but during First Class.**

**Disclaimer: Don'towndon'towndon'town!**

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><p><em>Feed on infatuation, swallow just a taste of all that I am,<em>

_All I have to show._

_Twist and turn me, bait and burn me_

_Smile and send me to oblivion._

_Breathe and bathe me, be and save me._

_Know I'm just here to the left of you._

'Just Here to the Left of You', Adam Pascal.

Erik eyes Charles coolly and takes a final sip of his drink before placing it on the small table beside him. "You're sure about this."

"Positive," Charles says. "I can do it."

Erik's tone is patronizing. "Of course you can."

Charles narrows his eyes in what is supposed to be a threatening manner, but really he merely looks as though he is slightly drunk (which he is). "I'm perfectly capable of defending myself, Erik."

"Yes – but can you do it without playing around in my head?" Erik queries, and with lightning quickness, he moves to grab Charles. Charles, anticipating the movement but far too slow to dodge, braces himself for the impact and uses his lower center of gravity to his advantage.

They grapple for a moment, Erik with an expression of amusement and Charles with his teeth gritted and brow furrowed. Charles puts up a valiant fight, but it is still ridiculously easy for Erik to get him to the floor and pin him there, one knee holding down Charles's hips and his hands pinning Charles's wrists to the floor above his head.

"You should be able to fight me off for longer than that, even when you're intoxicated," Erik says, tutting and keeping Charles trapped. "What if I were a murderer?"

"I'm not _intoxicated_. And technically . . ."

"Don't go there. Are you sure you're not even a _little_ bit tipsy?"

"Cheeky bastard. You had an unfair advantage and you know it."

"Well, your mind should be an unfair advantage, but it isn't doing you much good, now is it?"

Charles suddenly jerks against him, and Erik, a little surprised, releases him. Charles, grinning triumphantly, does some of his mental voodoo, and Erik goes as slack as a ragdoll and takes Charles's place on the floor, completely helpless.

Charles proceeds to straddle Erik's middle and smirk down at him in a way that can easily be construed as seductive, if Erik is inclined to take it that way (and he is rather inclined, he has to admit). "Ha-bloody-ha."

"You _cheated_," Erik argues, his body still limp. "Now let me move."

Charles cocks his head slightly, and Erik feels his entire body stiffen (in _every_ sense of the word). "I didn't cheat –,"

Erik springs, rolling them over, and Charles thrashes, struggling against him. "Gah –,"

They wrestle – Erik is stronger, but Charles sees each move that pops into his head and compensates. But in the end, Charles flops and goes still, submitting, and Erik smirks at his victory.

They are spread out in the center of the floor, chests flush, narrow hips pressed together, and faces inches apart – is it any wonder that Charles promptly leans up and kisses Erik?

Erik kisses back rather inelegantly, holding Charles to the floor and giving off a quiet, masculine growl.

Finally, Charles breaks the kiss for air and pants, "We should – ah . . ."

Erik murmurs against Charles's ear, "Ah?"

"We should try . . . wrestling . . . with our clothes off."

Erik chuckles. "You are full of dreadful pick-up lines, Charles."

"They aren't the best, true. But they generally suffice."

Erik smirks. "Well, that _is_ a brilliant idea."

"What?" Charles asks breathily as Erik's mouth moves over his neck.

"Removing our clothes," Erik reminds. "You never know when you may find yourself, ah, rolling around naked."

"Rolling around naked with you?"

Erik fights the urge to laugh. "Yes, Charles. But I doubt you'll be able to hold me off for very long now."

Charles's grin is both drunken and sly. "Oh, woe is me," he says, before he promptly pushes upwards and flips Erik onto his back without the slightest difficulty. "The question you should be asking is – can _you_ hold _me_ off?"

Erik smirks. "It'll be a hard job, but I'll give it a shot."

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><p><strong>AN: Thanks so much for reading, reviews always appreciated!**


	8. VIII

**A/N: Oooh, a little post-First Class sort-of-AU thing going on here . . . **

**Warnings: angst, Erik/Charles. Set 20 years after First Class, and features a certain David Haller, my current obsession.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, I would make a movie where Erik and Charles played daddy to all the little mutants in the world. AND IT WOULD BE ADORABLE.**

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><p><em>And right here, right now,<em>

_All the way in Battery City_

_The little children raise their open, filthy palms,_

_Like tiny daggers up to Heaven._

'Na Na Na', My Chemical Romance.

"So, you're interested in the Brotherhood."

"Yes." _Charles, Charles, Charles . . . _

Erik raises a single eyebrow underneath his helmet. "Your name, may I ask?"

A pair of achingly familiar baby blues are glinting at him, and yet these are not the eyes of Charles Xavier – not at all. But this young man does bear a striking resemblance to him, and Erik has a sinking feeling in his gut that it is not just passing. And when he hears the young man's name, the sinking feeling becomes a full-fledged plunging.

"David. David Charles Haller."

Across the room, Raven's eyes widen – she too has noticed all the similarities, the dark wavy hair, the creamy skin, and the eyes, _Christ_, oh, the last time Erik saw eyes so blue – but Raven is far too wise to say anything. She is not Raven anymore, not the spunky young girl filled with aching insecurities; she is Mystique, just as Erik is no longer Erik Lehnsherr, lover and partner of Charles Xavier – he is Magneto now, and must behave accordingly.

"And your mutation?"

David's smile is smug, knowing, sly. Not a _Charles _smile at all. (Erik has entire mental dictionaries devoted to analyzing each and every one of Charles's many features and expressions.) This young man – he appears to be around twenty-five, meaning that he would have been a young child when Erik first met Charles (and God, Charles couldn't have known, because _of course_ he would have mentioned this) – is dangerous. Erik can sense it, they all can.

"Telepathy," he says. "Among other things."

Emma's cool voice drifts over from across the room, where she stands with Raven (_Mystique_, he corrects himself – apparently all it takes is a dead ringer for Charles to make him forget everything that has happened in the past twenty years). "It runs in the family, apparently."

David's gaze flicks to her, and something shifts almost imperceptibly behind his eyes – Erik wonders just what the two telepaths are doing inside each others' heads. "You know my father, of course."

Erik has to speak – _he_ is the boss here, _not_ Miss Frost. "Your father is Charles Xavier, correct?"

David looks back at Erik. Erik suddenly decides that those eyes are not Charles's at all – they hold far too many secrets. "Yes."

Erik leans back in his chair slightly, sizing up the man. If he is half as gifted as Charles, he _will_ make a good addition. "Yet you choose not to go with the X-Men." _If this isn't a ploy, then such a lack of loyalty is cause for concern. How can you be a member of the Brotherhood if you show nothing for your own father?_

David smiles darkly, almost evilly (and Erik himself may be evil, but at least he is not as disturbed as this boy seems to be). "My father doesn't know I exist. I plan to keep it that way."

"Very well," Erik says, leaning forward again, his eyes almost hidden in the shadow of the helmet (the helmet that protects him from Emma, and David, and above all, Charles). "Welcome to the Brotherhood."

The young man grins, and Erik's chest tightens oddly. Even his mouth has the same shape and color as Charles's, and yet the very _aura_ coming off of him is so different. There is none of Charles's gentle, intelligent peace – there is only a dark, discomforting feeling that makes Erik _very_ vaguely want to leave the room (_run_ from the room – no, he wants to run all the way to New York, he wants to run to Charles and fling himself at Charles's useless feet to beg for forgiveness – but he cannot.)

David offers his hand for a shake, and Erik takes it, biting back his reluctance. His eyes meet David's again – silver-green meeting sky blue once more, but it is so different now, because this isn't _him_, the one Erik really wants – and he chastises himself for being so weak. This is a good thing; if this young man has Charles's gifts, what does it matter that he looks just like Charles (he even bears _Charles_ as his middle name – Erik curses David's mother – whoever she is – for naming him this and for sleeping with Charles in the first place).

Quite by accident, Erik's eyes meet Emma's. The look on her face is so easy to read that it's almost as though she's speaking inside his head (which is, of course, impossible). Her expression almost screams, _so after twenty years, have you finally found your replacement? _

_No_, Erik desperately wants to respond (but alas, it is another thing he cannot do). _The void has merely grown that much wider._

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><p><strong>AN: . . . I had to do it! Forgive me! Reviews are greatly appreciated, my lovelies.**


	9. IX

**A/N: I spend way too much time listening to the _Hair_ soundtrack. XD**

**Warnings: language, high!ness. Set post-First Class. No pairings, although you're welcome to see it in any way you like.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned First Class, would I seriously have a disclaimer?**

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><p><em>All the clouds are cumulus,<em>

_Walking in space._

_Oh my God, your skin is soft,_

_I love your face!_

'Walking in Space', Hair

"Oh my _God_," Charles said, his eyes wide. "Hank, what have you done?"

Hank's expression was equally horrified. "I don't know, Professor, I swear – I'm not sure how this happened . . ."

Charles lowered his voice, still staring at the sight before them. "You said you were creating a cure for the common cold, not a psychedelic drug!"

Hank wrung his furry hands, flustered. "I – I, uh . . ."

"Step, ball, change, step, ball, change . . ." Sean said, doing some sort of funny hop-skip-slide, complete with jazz hands. He was inexplicably shirtless, his freckled chest was covered with flour (Hank trembled at the thought of what the kitchen must look like right now), and his orange-red hair was sopping wet and sticking to his face.

Sean caught sight of them then, and his face brightened like a child's on Christmas morning. "_Hey_, guys!"

From the corner came a growl of, "Fuck the man, man!"

Three sets of eyes turned to rest on the young blond man sitting in the corner. "Alex?" Charles said curiously. "Are you alright?"

"No, I'm not alright!" the boy grumbled. "The white man has oppressed me for long enough, man!"

"What are you talking about?" Charles asked, confused. "Alex . . . you're white."

Alex appeared not to have thought of this. " . . . But I'm an ex-con. So, the white man _has_ oppressed me!"

"You _stole_ from the white man, and you got sent to jail for it," Hank reminded, apparently not realizing that it is not a good idea to argue with someone when they're tripping out.

Suddenly, Sean flung himself at Charles, falling to his knees in front of the wheelchair. "Oh my God," he said, his blue-green eyes wide. "I can see _Heaven_, man. It's _beautiful_. Flowers and birds and sunshine . . ."

Charles stared at him, halfway between amused and worried. "Sean, calm down."

"_Oh my God_!" Sean cried, amazed. "God is British?"

Charles repressed a laugh and looked up at Hank. "Hank, you need to fix this. We've got one who thinks he's Malcolm X and the other thinks I'm God."

Sean promptly started kissing Charles's shoes. "I promise, I'll start going to Mass again, oh Lord, Duke of Heaven . . . or king, whichever you prefer, Your Royal Godliness . . ."

Hank threw his hands up over his head, nearly catching Charles on the head with his large blue arm. "Do you really want me to inject them with something else? A cure for the cure for the common cold?"

"Fuck that, man," Alex said loudly. "We all know what happened the last time you tried to cure something. I'm too pretty to end up blue and fuzzy."

Hank frowned. That was still a _very_ touchy subject. "You know what, Alex –,"

Charles touched Hank's arm lightly. "Calm down," he said warningly. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Well, he's gonna know when I'm through with him –,"

Sean's attention turned to Hank. "Are you an angel?" he asked, reaching out to stroke some of the blue fur. "Can I show you my dance routine, angel?"

Hank raised his eyebrows. "Uh, no thanks," he said. "Professor, I think we're just going to have to keep them contained and wait it out. They'll come down eventually."

Charles frowned. "Alright, but if Alex starts leading marches and Sean starts choreographing ballet routines, I'm blaming you."

"Understood," Hank said, wincing and deciding privately that this was the last time he attempted to cure _anything_. "We'll try to keep the dancing and race rioting to a minimum."

At the sound of that, Alex stood up and stomped his foot. "You're just like the rest of them!" he accused. "Trying to oppress the mutants!"

Charles shook his head and wheeled around to leave before things got any weirder. "Hank . . . just watch them. Keep them from burning my house down."

Hank frowned. "I'll do my best."

Sean turned to Alex and beamed. "Hey, Alex!"

"What?"

"I'll help you fight the man if you help me practice ballet."

Hank slapped a palm to his face and growled. "_I'm_ going to need that cure by the time this is over."

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><p><strong>AN: Yes, Hank just face!palmed. Thanks for reading, reviews are great!**


	10. X

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed last chapter's attempted humor, because THE ANGST IS BACK. (Cue dark, disturbing music)**

**Warnings: kinda AU, implied violence and death, dark-ish!Charles, a bit of Erik/Charles, _slightly implied_ Hank/Alex. Set some time after First Class. Pretty dark.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned First Class, I'd . . . think of something witty to put right here.**

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><p><em>Am I the only one who thinks it's tragic?<em>

'_Cause I know this can't be the real world now –_

_No, oh, no, oh._

'Real World', The All-American Rejects.

It is mid-evening on a rainy Wednesday when Emma Frost comes to him and says, "Your telepath needs you. It's apparently quite urgent."

Predictably, the first thing Erik does is find Azazel – because his telepath needs him, and the words 'quite urgent' keep pulsing and thrumming in his head over and over, along with some kind of fearful _Charles-is-hurt-Charles-is-hurt_ mantra.

The second he and Azazel appear on the grass outside the mansion, he knows that something is terribly, horribly wrong. The mansion is in total darkness, save for one light shining dimly from the second floor (is it Charles's study? He can't be sure, he doesn't really remember the exact layout of the house). Erik tells Azazel to wait for him and strides purposefully towards Charles's home-turned-school, ignoring the chilly mist fluttering down on him from above. What is a little rain to him when Charles could be hurt or sick, or, God forbid (not that Erik has any use for God or what He forbids), dying?

The sight that greets him upon opening the door is a bit of a shock, to say the least.

There is a dead body in the foyer.

A very large, very blue, very _dead_ body.

Erik bends over slightly, and yes, of course, it is Hank McCoy, his blue fur so darkened with blood that it looks almost black in places. His eyes are closed, his mouth open slightly, revealing sharp teeth. Erik is about to move away when he notices, seemingly protruding from Hank, a long-fingered, pale hand, limply flung out on the floor. Without even thinking, he gently pushes Hank's body to the side, and nearly jumps back when he finds himself face-to-face with Alex Summers. Who is also very, very dead. _His_ eyes are open, wide and gray and empty, and his lips are parted, a thin crust of dried blood on them. Erik straightens, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach as he leaves the two bodies where they are, collapsed over each other on the floor.

He knows now where Charles must be, and he sweeps towards the study. On the staircase is the body of a child. Erik spares it only a passing glance, but not out of disrespect – he does not wish to ogle any murdered mutant children, thank you very much.

There are two more bodies in the hallway, and Erik knows that there must be more somewhere. The house is in tatters – antique vases knocked over, doors flung nearly off their hinges, expensive furniture destroyed. Clearly they (whoever _they_ are) took out Hank and Alex first, leaving the children to panic like chickens with their heads cut off.

He comes to the door of Charles's study, which is closed. He unlocks the door with a twitch of his finger and opens it apprehensively, but the scene before him is not as horrifying as he expected. Charles is sitting in his wheelchair (oh, God, it's true, it's a _wheelchair_) at his desk. He turns to look at Erik, his blue eyes as wide and empty as a corpse's. Beside him sits Sean, his freckled face reddened from crying.

"Erik," Charles says vaguely. "Hello, old friend."

Erik doesn't bother with a greeting. "What's happened?"

Charles's voice is almost toneless, and Erik longs to run to him and embrace him. He almost wishes Charles would cry, just because it's something Charles would do. "I had business in Washington," he says. "Sean and I went, because I can't travel alone. And the humans came."

"The humans," Erik says rather hollowly. It doesn't surprise him.

"They did this," Charles murmurs quietly. Not _you did this_ – it's _they did this _now. It's all different now. Charles is different, Erik is different, and the lives of two gifted mutants and several mutant children have been taken. It is _wrong_, not just _different_.

"Why did you call me here, Charles?" Erik asks. His voice does not betray his hope, but it is there, shining in his eyes.

Charles's voice is so achingly calm and _broken_ that Erik wonders whether he may just snap and run to kiss the man (he doesn't snap, but he comes close in that instant). "I think you know why, my friend."

Erik nods, walks to the desk, and extends his hand. Charles takes it, hardly glancing at Sean as he says, "We will come with you, for now."

_For now. _Does that translate to _for forever_, or does it translate to _I can never stay_?

Erik's eyes meet Charles's, and he squeezes Charles's warm hand instinctively. Whatever it means, he will find out – and he will find it out the right way, the way it was always meant to be – with Charles at his side.

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><p><strong>AN: Gah, darkness. Reviews are much appreciated!**


	11. XI

**A/N: FLUFF ALERT.**

**Warnings: Erik/Charles, language, mentions of violence, pissed-off!Erik, one very suggestive remark. XD Set during First Class.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, Erik and Charles would get married, live happily ever after, and rule the world, kthnxbye.**

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><p><em>Oh, don't give us none of your aggravation,<em>

_We've had it with your discipline._

_Oh, Saturday night's alright for fighting,_

_Get a little action in._

'Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting', Elton John.

Erik is seething. As in, literally _seething_. His teeth are gritted, his hands clenched, and he is seeing red – although that might be because the cut on his eyebrow is bleeding.

Charles is fretting, of course, even though there's a pretty nice shiner blossoming under his eye. "Oh, Erik," he says, using his handkerchief (_really, Charles? An embroidered handkerchief?_ – _Oh, do shut up about the handkerchief!_) to blot the cut. "I can't believe you started a fight."

Erik looks at Charles, outraged. "_Me_? You were flirting with that tart!"

"How was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend?"

"Perhaps because _you can read minds_?"

"Shh," Charles hisses, looking around. He's kneeling in the street in front of Erik, who is sitting on the curb. Behind them, the bar they were just unceremoniously thrown from thumps out a muffled guitar riff. "Let me rephrase that. How was I supposed to know that she had such a _large_ boyfriend?"

"Why you didn't know she had such a _drunk_ boyfriend is a better question." Erik is understandably quite upset – it's not every day your sort-of-lover ends up getting decked in a bar-room brawl (he himself is rather used to being punched in the face – but it comes with the job of Nazi hunter). His gray-green eyes meet Charles's deep blue ones, and he frowns at the sight of that swelling red bruise – part of him wants to kiss it better, and the other part of him wants to slap Charles senseless for _daring_ to look at _anyone_ in the first place.

"Come now," Charles soothes, lowering his now-reddened handkerchief. "You know I wasn't really interested in her."

"How do you know what I know?" Erik spits back automatically, feeling rather like a child as he does so.

Charles gives him one of their Looks (and later Erik will find it vaguely amusing that he's come to refer to the glances they exchange as Looks-with-a-capitol-L). "Perhaps because I can read minds?"

"Ha-fucking-ha."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Such language."

"Such language is more than deserved, Charles. I'm drunk and I just got punched in the face trying to yank some brute off of you. He's lucky I didn't bash him over the head with a bar stool . . . they were made of metal, and quite sturdy, I noticed."

Charles is suddenly smirking. "Well," he said. "At least there's one good thing that's come out of this."

Erik gives him an icy look. "Oh, no, there are two good things. My forehead and your eye will both be looking positively _lovely_ tomorrow morning."

"No, not that," Charles says, rolling his eyes. "Although I do think I look a bit more threatening with a black eye."

"You do. I'm sure small children will be absolutely terrified of you now."

Charles gives him a look that clearly reads _shut-up-before-I-decide-to-give-YOU-a-black-eye. _"Aaaanyway. Just so you know, I found it incredibly sexy when you dove on that man in there."

Erik gives a sarcastic laugh. "Kinky, but –,"

"Don't be stupid," Charles says. "You know what I mean. You looked very . . . tough. Protective. Possessive."

"So that's what you're in to, then? You telepaths, honestly."

"Erik, you only know one telepath."

"And that's more than enough, thank you," Erik says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You really liked it when I jumped in to save your arse?"

"Yes. Although you didn't _save_ my arse –,"

Erik pats him on the shoulder in what is supposed to be a reassuring motion. "Yes, of course, you could have fought him off. You're a big, bad mind-reader."

"And you're an intimidating, drunk . . ." Charles pauses. "Erik, I think I may have some sort of head trauma. I can't think of any witty retorts for that."

"You know what will help your head feel better?" Erik queries suggestively, not even bothering to glance around them to ensure that they're alone. Instead he pictures something rather lewd, and delights in the look on Charles's face.

Charles's eyes widen. "That _certainly_ won't help my head."

Erik grins. "But it _involves_ head. You see the connection, don't you? Because I certainly see a connection."

"You're disgusting."

"I thought I was intimidating and drunk?"

" . . . That, too."

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><p><strong>AN: I swear, they just write themselves like this. XD Reviews make me smile! **


	12. XII

**A/N: I'm on an Elton John kick, guys. Sorry!**

**Warnings: none, really (gasp!). No pairings. Set post-First Class.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, they wouldn't have screwed the timeline up so badly. XD**

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><p><em>Daniel, my brother,<em>

_You are older than me._

_Do you still feel the pain of the scars that won't heal?_

_Your eyes have died, but you see more than I._

_Daniel, you're a star in the face of the sky._

'Daniel', Elton John.

The door to the tiny room swings open slowly, and the sightless boy sitting on the bed turns to face the noise. A familiar voice, the matron's, says, "Scott, you have some visitors."

Scott has _never_ had visitors before.

"I'll leave you two with him, then," the matron says.

"Thank you," an accented voice replies. Scott isn't quite sure, but he labels the accent as British. It's a charming voice, quite elegant – Scott pictures the man as tall and dashing, a proper image to fit the tone.

The door closes, and the voice begins to talk to him. He asks questions, questions about Scott and Scott's eyes, and he tells the blind boy things – things about strange people, people just like him, people called _mutants_.

Scott doesn't believe a word of it.

The man, who says he is named Professor Charles Xavier, laughs lightly. "You truly are a Summers. Very resentful towards authority, the lot of you."

Someone clears their throat and mutters, "Charles –,"

Scott jumps. He hadn't even realized there was someone else in the room. But the matron had said _visitors_ – Scott mentally smacks himself for being so stupid. He's used to relying on his hearing, though, and this person hasn't said one word the entire time. He wishes they would say something else, so that he could work up a good mental image of them.

Suddenly, unbidden, a picture floats into his mind. There is a man in a suit, seated in a fancy wheelchair and smiling, with twinkling blue eyes. Behind him is a tall, muscular blond teenager with gray eyes.

Scott gasps. "What –?"

"I wasn't lying when I said I was a telepath," Charles Xavier replies as the picture is withdrawn from Scott's head. "I believe an introduction is in order. Scott, this is my good friend, Alexander Summers."

Underneath the blindfold that prevents him from killing everyone around him, Scott's eyes widen.

The other man, Alexander (Alex, Scott suddenly thinks, _Alex_), clears his throat again and says, "Look, I know you don't remember me, because I don't really remember you, but, uh, I'm your brother."

"I remember you," Scott says, astonished. "Alex. You don't remember me?"

Alex sounds mildly uncomfortable. "I remember you used to be cross-eyed. That's it."

Scott's laugh sounds just a _tad_ hysterical. "Cross-eyed is a funny way of putting it!" He thinks of the red energy that spills from his eyes uncontrollably, and his heart thumps fearfully. _I'm dangerous_, he thinks. _I kill people without meaning to._

The Professor's voice is soothing. "It's alright, Scott. We can help you. Alex couldn't control his powers, either, could you, Alex?"

"No," Scott's blond brother says. "I couldn't. He's telling the truth, Scott, he can help you. The professor can help anyone." There is such strong loyalty in Alex's voice that Scott _has_ to believe him, because Scott really needs to believe _something_ right now. If he doesn't, he's afraid he'll go his whole life as a blind freak, unable to see anything for fear of killing someone or destroying something.

Professor Xavier speaks again. "We will help you, Scott." There is so much conviction in that voice – so much intelligence, so much _kindness_. "You'll see with your own eyes again."

_I'll see with my own eyes. I'll see my brother. _"You promise?"

"I promise," vows Charles Xavier, the guardian angel Scott hadn't believed existed.

The blind boy smiles then, and believes him – he believes his savior and his brother, and he knows that he will never be alone in the darkness again.

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><p><strong>AN: I had to bring Scott in, I just had to. XD And yes, I know Scott's obviously too young for this drabble to actually work, but he's supposed to be Alex's older brother, so I just chose not to mention any ages. Thanks for reading, reviews appreciated!**


	13. XIII

**A/N: Omg, this is literally the fluffiest thing I've ever written. XD**

**Warnings: cuteness, AU after First Class, Erik/Charles, daddy!Erik, daddy!Charles. Post XFC. One of those the-beach-scene-ended-happily things.**

**Disclaimer: Do you really think a little fluff-writing fangirl owns X-Men? If you do, I'm flattered!**

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><p><em>Forget your troubles, come on, get happy<em>

_You better chase all your cares away._

_Shout hallelujah, come on, get happy. _

'Get Happy', Judy Garland.

Charles never realized just how _loud_ children could be until he started living with a brood of them. And really, they _were_ quite loud. Their minds went a mile a minute, their mouths even faster – they were constantly laughing and frolicking and shouting, and while Charles loved each and every one of his students dearly, it could get to be just a little too much sometimes. Which explained why he was sitting in his study, staring listlessly out the window at a clear blue sky, his reading glasses pushed down on his nose, as he listened to the sounds of fun outside.

Finally, he forced himself to look back down at his papers. _This is your fault_, he told himself. _You're the one who chose today to actually get some work done._

Five minutes had barely passed before he stood and went to the window, looking out. Everyone was outside, enjoying the lovely day – it was the first truly pleasant day of the year, and soon these days would pass to be replaced by agonizing heat. Even _Erik_ was outdoors, acting as a monitor to ensure that none of the children accidentally killed themselves (or each other).

Charles slipped into his lover's mind with ease, smiling to himself. Erik would never, ever admit it, but he was actually enjoying himself. The students weren't being bothersome in the slightest, and Sean, Hank, and Alex were putting on quite a show (well – sort of. Sean and Alex were chasing Hank with water balloons – and even Erik couldn't suppress a laugh when Hank finally turned around and pounced on them.)

Still watching through Erik's mind, Charles projected, _Please don't let Hank kill them. It will traumatize the students._

Erik's mental tone was amused. _I doubt that. I think they'll find it quite funny._

Charles rolled his eyes to himself and replied, _Yes, well, I suppose they _were_ asking for it. Will you go and check on David? He's upset about something._

Charles watched from the window as Erik went over to a small, dark-haired child crouched on the grass, and smiled paternally to himself. Erik hadn't been too pleased to learn that Charles had a child with an ex-girlfriend, but Charles hadn't exactly known either, so Erik hadn't been able to stay annoyed for long (and it didn't hurt that David was essentially a smaller version of Charles, complete with big blue eyes and an adorable/annoying inability to control his telepathy.)

He slipped back into Erik's head, watching his conversation with David.

"What's the matter, David?"

The little boy sadly held up his toy airplane, which was currently missing a wing. "It broke."

Erik twitched his fingers, and the metal wing snapped back on to the airplane. David's face positively lit up, and Charles definitely wasn't imagining the affection that went through Erik.

_I know you're in my head, Charles_, Erik reminded.

_Sorry_, Charles said. _It's just so adorable, I can't help myself._

_Oh, quit being such a girl._

_You're the one making my son's airplane fly around by itself. _

_But I'm doing it in a manly, disciplined manner. You're acting like a housewife._

_Whatever you say, Erik,_ Charles responded, smiling.

_Will you come outside now? _Erik asked as he made David's plane soar around the child's head. _Your son would probably much rather play mind-games with you._

_No, I think he'd much rather force you to fly that plane around all day_, Charles teased. _Besides, I still have work to do._

Erik looked over his shoulder to face the house, and Charles gave him a wave from the window.

_Please_, Erik thought, knowing quite well that Charles couldn't resist for much longer.

_Alright, fine_, Charles gave in. But just to be cheeky, he raised his hand to his mouth, pressed his lips to his palm, and blew an elaborate kiss to Erik.

_You're a strange creature, Charles_, Erik thought back grouchily, but he glanced around and caught the kiss anyway. Then, with the utmost care, he pressed the kiss to his heart.

_Oh, and _I'm_ the girl here?_

_Just shut up and come downstairs._

_Yes, Mrs. Xavier._

_If you call me that one more time . . . _Erik threatened.

_You'll what? Hold out on me? _Charles teased.

_. . . Don't be ridiculous._

Charles's only response was a projected wave of smugness and happiness as he went outside to join his lover and his students.

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><p><strong>AN: I like this whole fluff thing. :D Reviews make my day! **


	14. XIV

**A/N: Dear Sir Elton John: SCREW YOUR DAMNED ANGSTY MUSIC. This is the third song I've used! Christ! Quit inspiring me!**

**Warnings: implied sex, angst, Charles/Erik. Quite melancholy. Set wayyy post-FC, but talks about stuff from FC.**

**Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, Erik would be required to talk in French all the time. B/c that is a freaking romantic language, man. :D **

**PS: I got all my translations from Google Translate, so please don't blame me if I screwed up. XD**

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><p><em>What do I do to make you want me,<em>

_What have I got to do to be heard._

_What do I say when it's all over,_

_And sorry seems to be the hardest word._

'Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word', Elton John.

_I love you._

These are the words that Charles calls to Erik in his dreams; these are the words that he says with a broken smile. _I love you, Erik, won't you stay with me?_

And Erik always replies, _yes. Yes, I will._ And he fixes that smile, he fixes that heart – he fixes the things he never should have broken.

_Ich liebe dich. _Those are the words that Erik still calls to his mother in his nightmares, and the words he whispers to Charles in a helpless memory. (_Is that German for 'I love you'? _– _If it is? _– _Then I love you, too, Erik . . . _Oh, Charles and his complete lack of understanding of German beyond 'ja' and 'mein Gott' – arguably the words he heard the most often.)

_Je t'aime. _This he breathes in Charles's ear in his best fantasy, his voice laced with love and lust and _God-Charles-why-do-I-love-you-so-much _(he hadn't even known that was a feeling until it was too late to ask the question – he'd been too busy with slick skin and hot hands to realize how emotions could linger).

_Te amo. _This he laughs out in a pleasant daydream, and in his ridiculously fond imaginings Charles flicks a chess piece at him childishly and says, "You're a cheat, Erik." To which Erik replies teasingly: "Yes, but you're a fool if you didn't see it coming, Charles."

(And every time he remembers this, the memory sours – because Erik isn't a cheat, he's a traitor – and Charles had been a fool, a naïve, brilliant fool.)

_Ich liebe dich, je t'aime, te amo, I love you. _All words that Erik once uttered, and how he _longs_ to say them again. (Not just _say_ – he wants to scream them from rooftops, he wants to sob them into pillows, he wants to write Charles love sonnets and ballads if that will just make everything alright.)

He never says them again, not after that day on the beach – but, in his amateurish, non-telepathic way, he projects them. And of course Charles, with his awe-inspiring mind, hears every single word.

_Ich habe nie aufgehört, dich zu lieben._

This he says in his head as he stares at Charles, and Charles's only outward sign of confusion is a slight hitch of his eyebrow (but Erik is studying him far too closely to miss it).

_I have never stopped loving you_, he translates.

Charles doesn't say anything, but Erik knows just by the way he moves his plastic chesspiece that it is far too late. And Erik knows by the way Charles lets him win that Charles is sorry.

(Sorry for what? This is all your fault, Erik Lehnsherr, he reminds himself. He cannot even bring himself to say _Magneto_ anymore, because if he is Magneto, then Charles is Professor X, and Professor X does not love Erik.)

_I love you_, he cries out in the back of his brain even when he is free of his plastic hell (he much prefers the metal hell; at least there he can shape his torment). But he forces this back – he forces himself to become Magneto once more, and as he watches Charles die before his eyes, he knows that he has paid the price. And the price is not metal, the price is not plastic, the price is not a forfeited chess game; the price is Charles, and he pays it.

_I love you. Te amo. Je t'aime. Ich liebe dich. _This he repeats in a quiet, dull mantra as he stares at yet another chessboard. This time, Charles's empty silence (for no matter what Erik used to think, the dead can't speak) says both nothing and everything all at once.

_Es tut mir leid. _

_Je suis désolé._

_Lo siento._

These words he murmurs quietly to himself as he beckons to the chesspiece weakly – he'd never learned to say any of these phrases before, because he'd never had a need for them until now. But now he knows them all too well.

_I'm sorry._

Charles does not answer – Charles can not answer. Erik is well aware that his friend is dead, and he is well aware that he's lost his mind.

But still he only smiles sadly, and repeats: _I'm sorry. _

It is a sad truth, but the language of regret is the only one Erik truly knows anymore.

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><p><strong>AN: Angsty. Reviews are love!**


	15. XV

**A/N: Angst ahead!**

**Warnings: slash, Hank/Alex, Hank/Raven, language, heavily implied sex, Hank's self-esteem issues, and a little minor sexuality crisis. I detest Hank/Raven for some reason, which is probably why Raven isn't portrayed in a favorable light here.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own _X-Men_ or _Spring Awakening_, which is the musical I took the lyrics from. :D**

**Another brief warning: YES THIS IS HANK/ALEX SLASH, AND YES HANK IS BLUE AND FURRY NOW. If you don't like it, I get it, and you totally don't have to read it. :)**

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><p><em>Just too unreal, all this<em>

_Watching his world slip through my fist_

_Playing with her in your fantasies_

_Haven't you heard a word, how I want you?_

_Oh, I'm gonna be wounded_

_Oh, I'm gonna be your wound . . ._

'The Word of Your Body', _Spring Awakening_.

"The bitch left, Hank. Get fucking used to it."

Hank growls, partly from lust and partly from pleasure due to what Alex is currently doing with his hands, but also partly from anger. The feral, animalistic side of him – _Beast_ – wants to rip Alex limb from limb for that comment. (Meanwhile, Hank, somewhere, is weeping. Beast could care less about Hank.)

"She's gone. She ditched us for Erik. She ditched you, and the professor, and Sean, and fuck it, even me. She. Is. Gone."

Hank kisses Alex to shut him up, and his pointed teeth _slip _(he'll forever call it a _slip_) ever so slightly, nicking Alex's lower lip. The taste of warm iron explodes into the kiss, and Hank pulls back slightly, lips curled into a snarl. Alex shouldn't be so damn gorgeous right now, with his mussed golden-blond hair, big steely-blue eyes, and swollen, bleeding bottom lip.

"Ow – fuck you, you asshole."

Hank kisses him again so he'll just be _quiet_, and Alex acquiesces. For the moment.

They part to gulp down some air, and Hank's mouth descends on Alex's neck – Alex consents to that as well, throwing his head back and baring his pale throat (Beast revels in his dominance; Hank still cries in the metaphorical corner.)

"I love you," Alex pants out, staring at the ceiling as Hank licks hungrily at his neck. Hank pauses in a rather idiotic pose, his tongue still stuck out slightly to lap at Alex's Adam's apple. Alex lifts his head slightly and blue eyes meet yellow (Hank whimpers softly in that corner; he himself used to have blue eyes. Always hidden behind glasses, but people _used_ to say they were his best feature . . .)

"I do," Alex whispers fervently, his voice hushed, coarse, and deep (that masculine voice both sickens and arouses Hank – he's still screaming, _this_ _isn't right, this isn't right_). "I know you don't believe me, because you're still hung up on her, and because you probably still hate me even though we're – and I know you think that because of the way you look that no one, especially not me, could –,"

"Shut up," Hank whispers, dropping his gaze as he goes back to nipping and biting at Alex's skin, as he goes back to pretending that he can just lose himself in Alex's blond hair, blue eyes, and long legs (so maybe another man isn't the best option for Hank, but Alex shares just enough key features with _her_ that it's alright - well - he shares key features with her _disguise_ . . . ) "Just please – please stop. Please don't."

Alex is silent then, but his legs spread as easily as ever.

It's only been a month since Cuba, but Hank is a little ashamed to admit that they've already done this a handful of times – because Hank breaks a little bit more every time he remembers anything from that day, and every time he catches sight of his reflection – and because doing this is somehow the only way to get _some_ frustration out. He's rough with Alex, not nearly rough as he'd like to be (because he'd break the boy if he was), but that's okay, because it's not Alex he really wants anyway. (At least, it shouldn't be.) But he pretends, because he _can._ And Alex goes along with it, because somehow Alex is the only person who can manage to find him remotely attractive now, and because _somehow_ Alex is in love with him. _Somehow_ Hank has gone from having a crush on a girl to being in love with the memory of a girl and to fucking another guy because he just _needs_ to.

The Beast's gaze flicks up once more, his eyes meeting Alex's once again.

Hank still weeps. And right in front of him, Alex does, too.

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><p><strong>AN: Reviews would be greatly appreciated.**


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